


Insomnia

by ReloadTheWorld, scooter3scooter



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crying, Depressed Tony Stark, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Insomnia, POV Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sad, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReloadTheWorld/pseuds/ReloadTheWorld, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scooter3scooter/pseuds/scooter3scooter
Summary: No one is around and Tony can't sleep...





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Reload: We were working on this FOREVER!!!!!! So happy its done!!!  
> Really appreciate feedback!!!  
> Scooter: very true we, especially Reload, put a lot into this, hope you like it :)

My mattress feels like an iron bar coiled under a burning flame. It’s one of those nights again. The nights were I can't stay asleep, or the time spacing is too drawn out to go to sleep, or I just simply cannot,  _ no matter what I do, sleep AT ALL. _ Something random can set this off; maybe thinking about what I had for dinner (if I ate dinner), or something Peter said (I want to be like you!) - or maybe a clock ticking in my head reminding me “there’s no time for good health, you have things to obsess over”.

 

And if this goes on long enough, I pace. I pace the whole tower, back and forth, left and right, every floor- walk on the ceiling as iron man. I usually don't pull that stunt anymore though- Pepper got really pissed when I made the entire roof fall once. I could be doing that now since Pepper won't be here for  _ an entire week;  _ but alas, I don't even have the will to get up.

  
  


Now that I think about it, it’s more like one of those mornings.  I've tried sleeping for the last 4 hours but I just can't. I like to call these “the stupid hours.”, also known as “SSSHHHHH SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP.” When I can't sleep, I get tired, and when I get tired I get emotional, and emotions are  _ bad.  _ BAD, EMOTIONS ARE BAD. Not so bad with no one watching, still, avoid at all costs.

  
  


Sometimes it's stress, but I am not stressed over anything!  I'm not stressed about my wife not being here, or worried about global warming and America’s weapon system or my sudden failures at creating inventions, and I'm  certainly not terrified of a certain blue and red superhero trying to act like me because ‘You're so cool Mr. Stark’ and then he'll wind up dead somewhere all because I gave him some stupid suit and snuck him away to Germany...

  
  


Pepper usually steps in and helps me rest, but she isn't here to calm my overheated thoughts, and I'm not about to call her (or ANYBODY) to admit that I can't because I'm being bitch. No, I don't need anybody. Nobody. No one at all. Nada. Zip.  Lost sleep isn't anything to cry over; I had a long, productive day in the lab and my body is too fired up. That's it. No biggie.

  
  
  


“Come on, Stark,” I mutter to myself as I bury my head in the pillows to block out the noise. “Either stay being a bitch or do something about it, make it work.’ 

 

Can I make this work?

Will I ever sleep?

Can I work the rest of my life with no sleep?

I'm so tired why can't I sleep?

Is this normal?

Hahaha, the ceiling has cracks that look like farts.

I miss Pepper.

  
  


_ ‘Oh, this is taking FOREVER!’  _

  
  


Having enough, I stumbled out of bed, (finally) my bones cracking in protest. My shaky legs stumble over to the kitchen cabinet. I push my hand all the way to the back and tap a certain spot 3 times. I grin to myself as I lift the tab to display a full array of high-quality alcohol. LET'S SOLVE ALL  OUR PROBLEMS WITH BAD DECISIONS!!!!

 

Should I have a drink tonight? It's one of those questions I rarely find myself asking anymore, now that I have Pepper but GONE and I can't handle it. Correction; I can handle it, I'm just choosing not too.  I ask myself again, hoping to come up with an answer. ‘Should I have a drink? One couldn't hurt.’ (but it always does)

  
  


But I know me. One turns into two, and two turns into five and nine and fifteen suddenly I pass out and wake up in next week. Oh, actually I would love to sleep until next week. I can miss all the business trips and stupid meets and depressing news stories; block out insomnia and failures and being alone and stupid, overdramatic weak, pathetic,  _ powerless-  _

 

I wonder if my father was like- uck. Forget him, forget him. Forget me. Forget, forget, for...get- 

  
  
  


**ENOUGH!**

  
  


My left-hand smashes into the nearby counter with full force, as if hitting something with enough force will fix all my dilemmas.  I spiral backward and topple over by the fridge; wine glasses and bottles rock unevenly at the first impact, tipping and shattering on the tiles- kinda like a seesaw on a layer of shallow ice. My sore knuckles ache sporadically as warm liquid oozes onto the linoleum in unbalanced, almost music like beats.

 

For a moment I only simply stand there, dazed. My instinct is to just leave it, it’s just a scratch, (Can you tell I'm lying?) what’s the harm? Though I know if Pepper could see me now, or even Rhodey or Happy or Peter, they would be so disappointed. Disappointed for an extensive list of reasons: that  I would turn to alcohol yet again, (or try to) that I can’t do something as simple as  _ sleeping _ , that I'm a helpless  _ wreck.  _

 

But it's not about them, right? It's about me- it’s always about me; that's what everyone seems to think anyway...

 

I stare down at my hand blankly. It's raw and disgusting, at least it's not sprained. Should just leave a scar or two, nothing anyone would instantly spot out. I then gaze towards the floor solemnly. There goes that drinking idea, kinda funny how things play out.

  
  


I can't help it. A stray giggle escapes my lips, followed by a yawn, and a chuckle- which turns into me high on hysterics,  crouched by shattered glass in a practical mansion; sobbing and  _ laughing  _ so hard that one could confuse me for a choking seal. 

 

…

  
  


3 am crawls to 4 am which walks to 5 am that  jogs up to 6, and by the time I get one of my bots (who am I kidding, several) to clean the broken shards and discreetly fix the massive dent in the counter;  dress my hand, fix my shitty hygiene and walk around the tower (for the fifth time) It's 12 in the afternoon. My eyes are heavy by now, but I'm used to this feeling so I pay no mind.

  
  


Peter is supposed to swing by (ha) the tower at 2 to help me work on some stuff (probably trying to do me favors since I gave him the suit back) I briefly consider cancelling, but then I think, how would I feel if someone I looked up to did that to me? He can't deny that he looks forward to our meetings, I can tell by the sparks in his eyes; if I canceled on him he would act like he's okay with it but he really wouldn't be. Would he really want to be like me if I keep breaking his heart?

 

A strained gargle leaps from my lungs. Get it together!

  
  


_ Does he still want to be like me? _

_ Will he see through my facade? _

_ Why can't he understand that he should be better than me? _

 

Get. It. Together.

 

_ How many mistakes is he going to make because of me? _

_ How many more people are going to get hurt  because of me? _

 

Stark.

 

_ Will he get hurt because of me? _

_ Will he die because of me? _

 

**Stark.**

 

_ … Will I die because of me? _

 

**Stop.**

  
  


A sharp hand smacks my face. I look down. It's my own hand 

 

I take in a deep breath as air cycles back through my body at a normal pace. My heart beats violently around in my chest. The arc reactor flickers. How abnormal of me to freak out this much in one day. (two days?)

 

**_Stressstressstressstress_ **

  
  


I step into the bathroom and dig under the small box in the bottom drawer of the sink, pulling out a pair of dusty black motorcycle gloves. I find myself smiling fondly. I loved these babies in college, they always made me feel braver than I really was. I slide one glove onto my injured hand, nostalgia filling me. The mirror makes its presence known.   _ ‘Well, it just looks stupid now’ _

 

 My eyes are baggy and dark, the hair on my jaw is rough and scratchy while the hair on my head is tangled in giant knots,  like a hill.  _ This is going to be fun… _

 

Maybe… maybe I should skip this part, I always look messy anyways, it's my style after all….

 

The mirror frowns at my reflection in disapproval. I frown back.

 

_ ‘At least fucking shave,’ _ it says. I roll my eyes, the mirror rolls them back. 

‘you look like a homeless man guest starring on Naked And Afraid.’ I mean…

Not wrong. No, very much right actually (someone who's right that's not me, what?! Jokes, it is me) and no matter how terrible I feel, I, Anthony Edward Stark, will NEVER  look homeless…. even if it's just Peter.

 

…

 

I don't look like a stray anymore; I do, however, look like a man who's lost all they have left to lose. The homeless went away, it’s gone for now, but this; this is unerasable. I wonder, has it always been there, and will this be true? 

 

Now that I'm in all fixed up and presentable, I exit the bathroom and make my way to the lab to look busy before Peter shows up; body still groggy from lack of sleep. So, so tired. “Why can't I just sleep it's been 3 WHOLE DAYS, DAMMIT!” My hand stops inches from smashing a wall. I breathe in slowly. That I definitely couldn't fix. As I breathe, everything seems to slow down.  Slow, slow, slow….

 

“Oh fuck.”I stumble against the wall I almost smashed.  It happens before I even have a chance to identify it. I call it the brick switch, instant but random insomnia fix after a long time of awareness. It just randomly shuts you down from the inside and out, sending you into an involuntary, uncontrollable----

 

* * *

 

 

It's warm. Not iron bar under a coil of burning flames warm, no it's cozy. A comfortable warm. A sort of comfort I haven't felt in a long, long time. Blissful, peaceful, satisfying warmth. It lasted 3 seconds. What happens to late always stop too quick. I jolt, my arms flailing in the air. A blanket gets thrown off at my movement, and I look in confusion. Blank- oh, shit!

 

I jump to my feet, swaying slightly. “Peter! I missed-”

 

“R-right here, Mr. Stark.” A meek voice calls, lifting the fabric that landed on his head. If I wasn't freaking out so much it would be hysterical. 

 

“Pete? Why, what in the-”

 

“I’m sorry if you wanted me to wake you up I walked in and you were stone cold passed out! I was scared you hit your head or something, I tried calling Pepper but she didn't answer me at the time. I tried waking you up but it didn't work and I brought you over here because I just… it looked comfy and I'm really sorry if-”

 

“Pete.”

 

“I bothered you and your privacy it's just that, ”

  
  


He looked up at me with sad puppy eyes in the dim light, his face solemn.

 

“You looked so… tired.”  _ (He thinks you're vulnerable _ )

  
  
  


“I know kid, I'm sorry I clocked out like that and missed our lab, you didn't have to stay, I would have been just fine.”

 

“I know I didn't have to, but I wanted you to have someone here to wake up near. I thought maybe you're like me and you can't sleep for a long time and when you crash you crash kinda bad so I figured you'd maybe-”

 

“Kid. I'm not weak, I don't need help.” I  stretch, flicking the light switch and patting the seat next to me, inviting him to sit.  _ (He thinks you're weak _ )

  
  


“It's not like that, just a mistake, that's all.”

 

“I don't believe you.” He huffs.

 

“I'm an adult, you have every reason to believe me-”

 

“Pepper told me… about it.”

  
  
  


My teeth clench.  _ What? _

 

_ “What?” _

  
  


_ “ _ It's not her fault! I got super scared and I called her again.  She was trying to tell me without telling me but I'm super stubborn so she gave up and told me and-

And I figure you don't get much sleep which is why I try and leave you alone a lot but-”

 

“Peter, relax, you can go now.”

 

“But I have to make sure you're okay!” He protests.

 

“I am okay. It's late, go home, Pete.”  _ (He knows you're lying) _

 

“Why are you wearing that awesome  glove then?”

  
  
  


Shit. I pull a lazy smirk. “Style, baby.”

 

“You've never been one for seeking out fashion trends, Mr. Stark. How come you've never had that before then?”

 

“Just found it.”

 

“I'm sorry but,” His voice straightened out, calm but direct, and strict.

  
  
  


“You can stop bullshiting me, I know you're not ok, I just want to help, I-”

 

“You've helped enough!” I shoot up from the couch to walk away, my knuckle scathing the armrest. I stifle a reaction. He noticed.

  
  


“Tony…” I turned my head from his.

 

“Just go home, Pete.” My voice wavered. “Just go home.”

 

“But-” He tries to exclaim.

 

I give an icy stare, my entire body shaking. “Don't backtalk me! Leave! Go home!

NOW! OUT”

  
  


His face is crestfallen, but he obeys, wiping away streaming tears with trembling hands, standing on his feet. He gives me one last stare.  _ Those sad puppy eyes. _

“Okay.” He whispers. “Okay. See- see you.” His quiet voice cracks. The footsteps linger from my hearing until they completely fade. I can hear the door shut quietly.

_ (He's scared of you.) _

 

That's when I cry. My knees thump on the carpet. I curl into myself, sobbing. Ugly, loud, wreching,  racking sobs; shocking that the whole city stayed asleep. I hated every bit of it, but I couldn’t hold the sorrow that sustained me. So I cried. I cried and cried and cried. Until I got angry. Fuming, overpowering, red hot anger.

 

I put a dent in the carpet. I broke every railing on the stairs. The microwave was smashed to pieces. Clothes and glass and miscellaneous house objects littered the floor in every room.

 

And when I was done with my bitch fit; laughter. The vibrations shook my chest. It echoed and bounced on the walls like ping pong. I laughed so hard that I choked on my own spit and slobbered on the sofa.

  
  
  
  


 The bots start to fix the tower. I watch their work in silence.

 

“I have another request.” They stop, halfway through, listening to my order.

 

“Can you fix me too?” What an irrational question to ask AI. I knew this, but I couldn't help but attempt. They looked to each other in confusion. One rolls over to scan me, searching for errors. HA! I wonder if I can build a machine that tells you all the shit that's wrong with you and then correct it! I'd be a quadrillionaire.

 

“Sir, all the errors I detect are completely physical.” It reports in a flat tone. “Perhaps the defects you truly seek only hover within you?” I blink. It blinks back.

 

“Is that all of your request?” It asks.

 

“Yes.” I croak. It rolls back with the others, who continue working.

  
  


Who knew my own creations would have the audacity to bullshit me? Even so, I favor the word is used.  _ Hover. _ Not ‘exist’ or ‘lie’ or ‘stand.’ No, hover. Above my reach, above my head, floating further and further from my grasp; a perfect description. 

  
  
  


The next day I decide to apologize to Peter. I didn't sleep that night, but I expected that. In my grasp I hold a letter. It contains all the things I wouldn't be able to say out loud. I walk (yes,  _ I WALKED _ ) inside the city lines of Queen's while schools were still open and placed it in the Parker's mailbox. I knew he'd receive it today, after all, Pete is the kind of kid who always checks the mailbox.

  
  
  


**_I thought that I could be perfect;_ **

**_Apparently I'm not,_ **

**_Because in a meadow of sun soaked flowers_ **

**_I'm the withered rose that rot._ **

 

**_I thought that I am mighty,_ **

**_But that is strikingly not true-_ **

**_The blow hit me so hard in the chest_ **

**_My heart believes it too_ **

 

**_I pondered being inflammable_ **

**_withstanding even the sun…_ **

**_In a basket of baked bread, however,_ **

**_I’m the loaf burned and overdone._ **

 

**_I dreamed of having courage to_ **

**_Shoo the monsters away_ **

**_But dreams hover, yes they hover_ **

**_Floating balloons on their way._ **

 

**_I realize I'm a dandelion, picked and scattered_ **

**_by the world-_ **

**_A pest that sprouts when its warm_ **

**_I grow until it gets too cold._ **

 

**_I rise in the morning to face_ **

**_All that's to be done-_ **

**_I close when the sun sets to hide from_ **

**_Things I cannot do;_ **

**_I can crumble and pull on_ **

**_Everyone’s roots-_ **

 

**_But like a dandelion, I will grow back_ **

**_With every patch of grass_ **

 

**_I will litter the world with petals_ **

**_Until petals I have none_ **

 

**_But I will make my mark_ **

**_Push back, be tough_ **

**_A stubborn weed that won’t give up_ **

 

**_And even when I'm picked from the ground,_ **

**_Withering and left to die,_ **

**_I will come back just as strong_ **

**_Because dandelions continue to rise_ **

 

_ Hey kid, take these gloves will yah? They might make you feel like a badass, and God knows you aren't. Little moment. Swing by tomorrow, _

 

 

  * __The mechanic  dandelion__



 

  
  
  


I stroll away, not happy but not in a state of distress like before. I have many things to apologize for, and I'll never be able to list them all out. I have things to work out, things to do, mistakes to make- as much as I hate a minor fluke.

  
  


But I have people that care, and I have to accept that whether I think I deserve them or not, if they’d be better off or not, if  _ I hate it or not _ .  I have certain people that will stay; no matter how angry or sad or  _ irritating _ I am; they are the gifts I have to open, even when it's not Christmas or my birthday. They are the energy that fuels me, the fuel that sustains me, the calm that lulls me to sleep with every opportunity of that ‘occasion’ occurring…. and to all those non- insomniac people out there-

  
  


That, my fellow dandelions, 

is a dream that only few will ever wake with. 

 


End file.
